


Rivals, Rugrats and Regrettable Tattoos

by orphan_account



Series: Domestic Bitches [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Baking, Communication, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Mentioned Mama Milkovich, Mentioned Monica Gallagher, Post-Season/Series 10, Tattoos, Uncle Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mickey is settled into married life in the chaotic Gallagher house and couldn’t be happier… except for the fact that his husband’s desire to have kids is getting harder to ignore, and the giant breasts tattooed on his back are threatening to ruin their sex life.
Relationships: Frances "Franny" Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Liam Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & Sandy Milkovich
Series: Domestic Bitches [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753711
Comments: 25
Kudos: 285





	Rivals, Rugrats and Regrettable Tattoos

Mickey walked into the bedroom to find Ian sitting on the bed reading a book, his back against the wall with his long legs spread out in front of him. He walked up to Ian and ruffled his hair fondly before dropping a kiss on the top of his head. Ian’s hair was getting a little long and in need of a trim, but one thing at a time.

Ian shut his book ( _God and the Gay Christian_ – clearly Gay Jesus wasn’t just a phase) and smiled up at Mickey. “What's up?” he asked.

“Got you something,” Mickey said, pulling an envelope folded in half from his back pocket and handing it over. He gave an encouraging nod at Ian's quizzical look, and Ian opened the envelope to reveal a stack of bills. 

“What's going on?”

“It's a gift,” said Mickey. He tapped Ian lightly on the cheek. “Go and buy yourself something pretty. Specifically, something pretty to cover–up those disgusting tits on your back.”

“Wait – are you serious right now?”

“Yeah man, you know how much I hate that thing. It's such a fucking turn off. You're lucky I don't top, I'm pretty sure my dick would shrivel up and fall off if I had to look at those every time we wanted to bang.”

“I thought you were vers now?”

Mickey just gave him the finger, before shrugging off his denim jacket and walking over to the closet to hang it up, leaving Ian on the bed still staring at the envelope in shock.

“Where did you even get this much money from? Please tell me you’re not working for your fucking dad again?”

“I picked up some overtime, fuck you very much,” Mickey said, yanking off his shirt and throwing it in the direction of the hamper. His chest heaved in his black tank top.

“I just wasn't expecting it,” Ian said, contrite. “You're always surprising me. I feel like I have another sugar daddy,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don't compare me to those creeps,” Mickey grumbled. Sure, he liked being able to provide for Ian, but it wasn’t about controlling him, or buying his love. Growing up, he hadn't been able to protect his siblings from Terry's temper, but he could damn well scrounge together the money to pay the heating bill so that Mandy wouldn't have to crawl into his bed with her thin blanket in search of warmth.

“It's kinda true though,” Ian said. “You were even getting shit for me in prison, and you'd get so secretive when I asked where the money came from.”

“Because you didn't need to fucking know. Ever heard the phrase 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth'?”

“Yeah but we're married now. Are you really gonna keep secrets from your husband?”

The word husband had a weird Pavlovian power over Mickey that Ian was all too happy to exploit. He sighed and took a seat on the bed, Ian drawing his legs back to make room for him.

“You know those freaky women who like fall in love with criminals and write letters to them and shit?”

“...yeah?”

Mickey gave Ian a pointed look.

“Oh shit, really?”

“It started when I got locked up the first time. Apparently attempted murder really gets these chicks wet. They just write complaining about their shitty soccer mom lives, looking for a little danger, and they’re so desperate for attention that if you write them back, they’ll put money in your commissary and shit. Sometimes they’d send pics, which I could sell to all the horny motherfuckers in the block. It’s not like I needed them.” Mickey wasn’t going to admit it to Ian, but it had felt good to have someone writing to him from the outside, even if it was just middle-aged nymphos. With nobody else writing to him or visiting, it had been as though once Mickey was locked up, he had ceased to exist in the real world, and it was a suffocating feeling. Those letters were a lifeline – proof that his life mattered to _someone_ outside the walls of his cell.

“I had no idea,” Ian said. Mickey just shrugged; he still wasn’t comfortable sharing that time of his life with Ian. There was a resentment there that would probably never go away.

Ian stood up from the bed and walked over to the mirror on the closet door. He pulled his T–shirt off over his head and turned around, looking over his shoulder to survey the tattoo in the mirror. “I know it’s fucked up, but I think I’m actually going to miss it,” he said. “It feels like a link to Monica.”

“They’re disembodied breasts man,” Mickey said, getting up and walking over to Ian, whose eyes were fixed on the tattoo. He placed a hand on Ian’s arm and stood next to him, looking at their reflection. “Why don’t you cover it up with something that reminds you of her?”

Ian sighed. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You were really fucked up when she died, huh?” Mickey said, voice soft. Ian didn’t talk about Monica much; Mickey just knew she had died around the time he’d gone to Mexico.

“I wish you’d been there,” Ian said, meeting Mickey’s eyes in the mirror. “You would have known how to make me feel better. You always do.”

“Or at the very least helped you choose better ink.”

Ian smiled softly and turned to face Mickey. He traced a finger over the beginning of Mickey’s “Ian Galager” tattoo, which was peeking out from beneath his tank top. “You do have great taste in tattoos,” he said.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said, but without any heat. They stared at each other for a moment, the only movement Ian’s fingers gently stroking Mickey’s chest, before Ian broke the silence.

“You know, I thought your mom was dead for the longest time. That’s what Mandy always said.”

“Yeah, she never forgave her for leaving us with Terry.”

“And you did?” Ian asked. It was odd, while Mickey and Ian had spent way too much fucking time talking about Terry, Laura Milkovich had never come up before. Ian had seemed to know instinctively, with that understanding of Mickey that only he had, that the subject was a sensitive one, and he never brought it up,

“Mandy was too young to really remember but before her addiction got worse, she was actually a pretty great mom, by South Side standards anyway,” Mickey said. “She tried to give us a normal childhood – birthdays, Halloween, all that jazz. When she was good, she was great – it’s just eventually there were more bad days than good, and then one day she was gone.” Mickey couldn’t exactly blame her either. She had been younger than he was now, dealing with a house full of young kids, including Terry’s bastards from his numerous side chicks, and with a Nazi psychopath for a husband. Who wouldn’t check the fuck out in that household?

“Sounds a bit like Monica,” Ian said. He nudged Mickey. “No matter how bad we get, at least we’ll still be better parents than ours were.”

And there it was. Everything kept coming back to kids with Ian these days and Mickey didn’t know how to handle it. Deciding he’d hit his quota for serious conversations, he changed the subject.

“You’re standing here topless and we’re really just gonna talk about our fucking moms?” he said, eyebrow raised. He grabbed Ian’s dick and grinned as he felt it stir, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth. “How ’bout shutting the fuck up and getting on me instead?”

Mickey laughed – it was _not_ a giggle, no matter what Ian said – as Ian grabbed him and tackled him back onto the bed. This was more like it.

***

With Debbie locked up and Lip moved out, the responsibility of what to do with Franny had fallen to Ian and Mickey. Given their schedules, enrolling her in daycare was their only option, and luckily they’d managed to find a decent one within walking distance of the house. As Mickey worked more regular hours, he was in charge of dropping her off in the mornings on his way to the mall, and it was the first day that he had dropped her off that he had met his nemesis, Sandra fucking Jones. 

Ian though that Mickey was being dramatic, but he didn’t see the way the bitch eyed his knuckle tatts, and the pitying look in her eyes when she looked at Franny. She was convinced her brat was an angel who could do no wrong, down to styling his blond hair in ringlets, and made snide comments about how tough it must be for Franny, growing up in the Gallagher house.

Mickey knew what it was like to grow up with everyone already decided against you because of your last name. He’d been that dirty, scrawny kid who nobody would play with, and who parents would pull their kids away from, and he’d be damned if Franny was going to have to go through that.

He had made it his mission to make sure there was nothing that Desperate Housewife could judge Franny for. Franny’s clothes were always clean and ironed, he packed her fruit and healthy snacks in her lunch box and had even found some YouTube tutorials to teach him how to style her hair. He could still remember the look on Sandra’s face when he had walked into the daycare one morning holding Franny’s hand, her hair pulled back in a perfect crown braid.

When Mickey had learned that the daycare was having a bake sale, he knew he had to pull out all the stops. Ian had suggested just buying some stuff from Costco, but Mickey wasn’t about to embarrass Franny. And so, he and Franny were making 3 batches of muffins: one standard, one gluten free and one vegan. Take that, Sandra.

Franny was a great sous chef – she had taken to copying everything Mickey did lately and clearly had a little hero worship going. She was standing on a chair at the counter, her tiny frame drowning in a large apron, following each step Mickey did in her smaller bowl. She looked adorable, eyebrows screwed up in concentration and a streak of flour on her cheek, and Mickey snapped a picture. The first batch of chocolate banana muffins were cooling on a rack next to her.

Ian came down and paused at the bottom of the stairs for a second, taking in the sight. He walked over to them, gave Franny a pat on the head, and moved to envelope Mickey from behind, burying his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck. “You smell so good,” Ian murmured, his hands finding their spot on the strip of bare skin between the bottom of Mickey's homemade crop top and the top of his sweatpants, and giving his belly a rub.

“Baking tends to do that,” Mickey said, continuing to stir his mixture as if he hadn’t just gained a 6-foot-tall ginger appendage. 

“Nope, all you.” Ian said, taking a deep inhale. Mickey could feel Ian smiling into his neck, and he squirmed a little at the sensation. Ian pulled back slightly, and Mickey turned his head to look at him.

“Hey, can I have a–” Ian paused, breaking into a shit eating grin, that had Mickey groaning internally in preparation. “Can I have a _mickmuffin_ please?” Mickey made to elbow him, but Ian danced out of the way with a laugh.

Mickey turned to Franny. “Uncle Ian is a corny motherfu–” He was cut off by Ian clamping a giant paw over Mickey’s mouth.

“Not in front of Franny,” Ian hissed. Mickey licked his palm, and Ian pulled back.

“Calm down, Franny knows that she can’t use my grown-up words yet, right Franny?” She nodded earnestly.

Mickey turned back to Ian, who was looking at the two of them with pure adoration in his eyes. Mickey felt a squirming sensation in his stomach – Ian’s turn for the broody clearly wasn’t going anywhere, and they were going to have to face it soon.

***

“Why buy that shirt when you and I both know you’re just gonna cut the sleeves off anyway?” Sandy asked.

Mickey ignored her, throwing the plaid shirt over his arm, and continuing his search. Mickey had mentioned that he needed to buy some new clothes, and Sandy had brought him to a thrift store that she swore by. Although his job gave him an employee discount at Old Army, there was no way he’d be caught dead in the preppy garbage they sold. Ian’s wardrobe, on the other hand, wouldn’t look out of place there which is why Mickey was on a mission to pick him up some new outfits. Ian could clearly not be trusted to pick out his own clothes; he had a horrendous pair of red track pants that he thought went with everything, and which Mickey had had to throw out for his own good.

“Have you been to visit Debbie?” Mickey asked. “We’re taking Franny to see her tomorrow if you want to join.”

“Fuck no,” Sandy said, with a grimace. “I went a couple of times but without the sex, it’s painfully obvious how narcissistic and self-centered she is. It’s _exhausting_.”

“That’s the Gallagher charm,” Mickey said. He found a pair of jeans and held them against himself, but they were way too long.

“Ooh, trouble in paradise?” Sandy said, visibly perking up. “I’m pretty sure my dealer’s a top, I can definitely hook you guys up.”

Sandy made no bones about the fact that she hated Ian and thought Mickey could do much better. It bothered Ian when she would say that shit in front of him, but Mickey knew that he could still trust Sandy to support them as long as Mickey was happy. That’s why he had made her his best man, and she had more than come through.

“Calm down,” Mickey said, “everything’s going really well. It’s just Ian’s baby obsession. Looking after Franny is taking up all our time as it is, but he still wants another rugrat, real bad.”

“So what, it’s not like he can knock you up.”

“No, but we can have fun trying,” Mickey said with a grin, and they shared a laugh.

“Just tell him straight up you don’t want kids. It’s your decision too.”

“Yeah, it’s just–” Mickey groaned in frustration. “I don’t want him to feel like he’s losing out on anything by marrying me, you know? I don’t want him to have any regrets.” He was looking over Sandy’s shoulder, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes. “And anyway, you know how pushy Ian can get when he’s made up his mind about something.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the story of your coming out,” Sandy said darkly. She pulled a pair of black jeans from the rack she was at and shoved it into Mickey’s hands. “Talk to him,” she said as she steered him towards the dressing room. “And try these on, they’ll make your butt look amazing.”

“Bitch, my ass always looks amazing.”

***

Sandy’s advice had gone a long way towards psyching Mickey up, so he was disappointed when he got home, and Ian was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t picking up his phone or answering texts either, so Mickey figured that he had probably picked up an extra shift.

Franny was staying with Lip, and Mickey wasn't in the mood to cook, so he just ordered a couple of pizzas and when they arrived, called for Liam to join him in the living room. The kid walked around like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Mickey had taken to introducing him to classic action movies to try and get him to lighten up for a change. Nobody could take anything too seriously with Schwarzenegger making terrible puns on screen.

Tonight's movie was Rambo, and they were about 40 minutes in when Mickey heard the door open. He paused the movie, but instead of Ian it was just Carl, wearing a Chicago PD hoodie.

“Terrorize any unarmed black kids today?” Mickey asked him, but Carl ignored him and headed straight upstairs.

“I can't believe I'm living with a pig,” Mickey said, shaking his head as he pressed play. “I feel dirty.”

“He's not actually on the force yet,” Liam pointed out.

“Yeah, but he's just the kind of crazy they'd love to have.”

“True.”

Mickey checked his phone but there was still nothing from Ian. He was debating whether he should go out and look for him when the door opened once more.

“You're late man,” he said, the second Ian entered the house. “Did you lose your fucking phone or something?”

“Yeah, sorry, erm–” Ian rubbed his forehead, a nervous tic he had picked up from Mickey. His eyes darted over to Liam sitting on the sofa before turning back to Mickey. “Can I speak with you upstairs please?”

Mickey gave Ian a funny look. “Yeah, I'm sure I can fit you into my diary.”

Liam groaned dramatically. “Can you guys please be quiet at least? I really don't want to be hearing that when I'm trying to sleep.

Mickey stood up from the sofa, stretching his arms over his head. “No promises Oasis,” he said, before heading up the stairs with Ian on his heels.

When they got to the bedroom, Ian pulled the door closed behind them and then leaned back against it.

“What's going on?” Mickey asked. “You're starting to freak me the fuck out.”

“It's nothing bad Mick,” Ian said. “Or at least, I hope you don't think it is. I was just at the tattoo parlor.”

“No shit!” Mickey grinned. “Let me see, it can't be worse than what you had before.”

Ian made no move to turn around, instead unbuttoning his shirt slowly to reveal a white bandage over his chest. “Surprise,” he said, smiling shakily.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Mickey found himself walking forward until he was right in front of Ian, his hand coming up to touch the bandage lightly. “Is this…”

Ian's hand came up to join his, peeling back the bandage to reveal the word “Mickey” scrawled over Ian's heart.

“I know it's not what we agreed but I couldn't resist,” Ian said. He placed a hand on Mickey's chest. “Now we match.”

Mickey felt the telltale pricking of tears at the back of his eyes. He blinked and looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold them at bay. This was so much more than he could have ever expected. Through watery eyes he saw a smile bloom across Ian's face.

“Does this mean you like it?” Ian asked. “I think I'm really getting the hang of this whole romantic gestures thing.”

“How is this your romantic gesture when I paid for it?” Mickey asked, trying and failing to keep a straight face. He broke out into a wide grin and reached up to cup Ian's face in his hands.

“I love it,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to Ian's lips. “I love you.”

He made to pull back, but Ian pulled him into a deeper kiss. Mickey lost himself in the sensation, twining his arms around Ian's neck; the only thought in his head a steady stream of _Ian, Ian, Ian_. He didn't even notice that they were moving until the back of his legs hit the bed, and awareness of his surroundings seeped back in. He pushed Ian back gently and caught his breath. They had one more thing to discuss tonight.

Mickey sat down on the bed and, grabbing Ian's hand, tugged Ian down to sit beside him. He felt noticeably less nervous than before, emboldened by Ian's gesture. They were inked on each other's skin, forever. They would get through this.

“We need to talk about kids Ian,” Mickey said, putting a hand on Ian's leg to ground himself. “I know you're ready to start like yesterday, but I just – I don't get the rush. We _just_ got hitched.”

Mickey's heart sank as he saw disappointment flood Ian's face. “Do you not want kids?” Ian asked, voice low.

Mickey sighed. “That's not what I'm saying. I want kids, _one day_. But I'm not ready for that to be anytime soon.”

“I just really want us to be a family,” Ian said. “Like before, with – with Yev.”

Mickey let go of Ian's leg and rubbed his hands over his face. “Ian, what we had with Yev and Svetlana was making the most of a shitty situation. That's not what family should be.”

“I know that,” Ian said. “I just, I feel shitty for abandoning Yev when you were locked up. I used to think of him as like my _son_ , and then I tried to forget all about him.” Ian's head was bowed, his hand pulling at the bed sheets in agitation. “How fucked up is that?”

“He wasn't your responsibility, and guilt is a shitty reason to have kids.” Mickey placed his hand over Ian's, stilling his fidgeting. Their matching chipped purple nail polish caught his eye, courtesy of Franny. “Let's just enjoy being uncle's for now,” he said.

Ian flipped his hand over, interlacing his fingers with Mickey's. He gave Mickey's hand a squeeze. “Maybe we should start small; we can go to the shelter and pick out a pet.”

“I think I can handle that,” Mickey said, leaning forward to give Ian a smiling kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for Franny and Mickey making muffins, and the “mickmuffin” line came from a tweet by @mickxmilkovich on twitter, thanks for the inspiration! 
> 
> Like most people, I don’t want Mickey and Ian rushed into parenthood next season (they’re still so young!) and would much rather the show lean into Uncle Mickey instead. 
> 
> 6x01 remains one of the most painful scenes in this show to watch, and the only thing that will make it even a little bit okay is Ian getting a tattoo as well.


End file.
